


What I Can't Say

by TheGreatElisaMousy



Series: Chaos in College [11]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Creative writing class, M/M, The Host loves Dr. Iplier, The Host writes a thing, but he's way too afraid to say it to his face, it's cute, well it's supposed to be cute anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatElisaMousy/pseuds/TheGreatElisaMousy
Summary: The Host's professor told him to write something personal for class.The Host is madly in love with Dr. Iplier, but can't bring himself to tell him. It might be a good idea to say it to SOMEONE, at least. This seems like a good compromise.
Relationships: The Host/Dr. Iplier (implied)
Series: Chaos in College [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570645
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	What I Can't Say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doctor_Discord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/gifts).



> So, this class is based heavily on a class I took at the school I transferred from to 'Marrin'. It was probably my favorite class there, and you'll quickly come to see why. (This takes place the same day as the beginning of On the Air)

The Host was practically buzzing with nervous energy as he headed for Berman Hall, straight for room 124. He arrived early, just like he always did, standing in the doorway and whispering a few words to himself. Quickly but carefully, the tables adjusted to form the circle—well, square—that Dr. Warren preferred. The professor said that it was better that everyone be able to see each other, that it might back them more comfortable. Plus, it was easier to simply look at someone on the other side of the square rather than turn around to see someone reading from the back. The Host was inclined to agree.

Taking his usual spot near the door, just in case he had to step out and do his best to take care of any bleeding, he waited, pulling out his notebook—sketchbook, rather, though it contained all his work for this class—and flipping to the last used page. He whispered to himself, narrating slowly what was on the page. He wasn't going to activate his Sight for this, but while he knew the piece by heart, he didn't want to risk messing it up. This piece was special to him, and he couldn't ruin it, even with just a single missed word.

His classmates slowly trickled in, and it was nice to know that while there were still people in some of his other classes that were wary of him, everyone here was fairly accepting. There had been questions, of course, some of which he'd answered while others he'd dodged. But to his surprise, no one had pushed. No one had pried to know why he spoke in the third person, or why his sockets bled last week—though there were quite a few people fairly concerned—or even why his name was the Host.

A girl named Grace sat on his left, in her own usual spot. He liked Grace; she'd been the first person to react when he'd bled, immediately asking what he needed, if there was anything she could do.

"Anything as depressing as last week?" she asked, leaning on her fist and looking at him with a raised yet teasing brow.

"The Host hopes not," he replied, closing his notebook. He couldn't let her get a 'sneak peek' after all.

She paused. "Hey, so, you mind if I ask a question?"

"Can the Host not answer if he doesn't feel comfortable doing so?"

"Yeah, of course," she told him. "How do you manage to write? I mean, I've seen your sketchbook, your handwriting is probably the neatest and fanciest I've ever seen. But you said on day one those bandages were because you were blind. Do you, like, tell the story out loud and someone else writes it down for you?" He simply gave her a mysterious smile, and she huffed good-naturedly. "You suck sometimes."

"Grace would not be the first person to tell the Host that," he said, amused.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm not."

It was at that moment Dr. Warren walked in, and several students—the Host included—greeted him. He, Dr. McMann, and Darvelle, whose proper title he still wasn't sure of, were probably his top three favorite professors. Granted, so far, he only knew five of them—six if one counted Professor Haldrin, but the Host preferred to just pretend he didn't exist—but they were all very kind and understanding to his particular circumstances. If he could, he really wanted to take more classes with some of them.

As he passed, the professor gave the Host a fairly concerned look, but the blind student understood. The piece he'd written before had been distressing and upsetting enough to make the Host bleed, and while it concerned everyone, Dr. Warren had asked him to write more of that, more vent, or at least personal, works, rather than his usual horror. He'd suggested that maybe the Host go a little easier, but he was probably wondering if he really listened to that advice or not. He did.

Or at least, he hoped he did.

The Host waited, listening intently to the other students as they read their pieces, giving advice where he felt necessary. He liked to think he had fairly constructive criticism. He _did_ know what it was like to write professionally, even if he usually tried to ignore that part of his life. There were people who wrote stories about heartbreak, some fantasy, something about otters, and even a letter to their future self. It was after Grace read her poem about the inevitability of death—for a kind and happy person, the girl wrote some _very_ depressing pieces—that the Host raised his hand. There were only a few students left, so if, but some chance, he started bleeding, he may be able to hold out until the end of class.

"Host?" Dr. Warren said, motioning for him to start. That was another thing the Host was grateful for; somehow, Dr. Warren knew that he didn't need to describe his gestures to him, that the Host would know.

He took a deep breath. "If everyone will remember last week—" The rest of the class cringed. "—the Host read a much more personal piece than usual, and Dr. Warren suggested that he write more of that, though not as... dark." He gave a small joking smile. "And so, the Host did. This piece is... just as personal." He cleared his throat. This was it. This was the moment.

" _He didn't deserve the doctor. The doctor stood by his side through everything, even though he didn't deserve it. He was the one person who saw worth in the man, thought he could do better, be better than the man he'd always been. The man had done terrible things, things he could never be forgiven for. Things he never should be forgiven for. And yet, the doctor saw past that._

_The doctor saw something in the man that even the man couldn't see, and it meant the world to him. When he was in a dark place, the darkest he'd been, the doctor was by the man's side. He was the shining light in the man's eternal darkness, a beacon of hope, the one person to ground him to the world when he was floating in a black void._

_The doctor cared about the man, and the man simply couldn't understand. He was there for the man when he was hurt, he was there for the man when he needed him. He never failed to cheer the man up, to make him laugh when all he wanted to do was cry tears of blood._

_The man could never thank the doctor enough. He could never properly show the gratitude he felt, there was no physical way possible. He... realized he loved the doctor, but the man couldn't say anything. Any time he even thought of doing so, the words caught in his throat, despite how easily they usually came. He couldn't do it, he could never say it._

_But regardless, the man would remain by the doctor's side. Even if they could never be what the man wanted, even if he could never tell the doctor how he felt, he would stay by his side for eternity, for as long as they had on this earth. The man cherished the doctor, and he never wanted to let him go."_

There was a brief moment of silence, and the Host could feel his face beginning to heat up. He'd never spoken about his feelings for Dr. Iplier—save for his narrations when he was, thankfully, alone—and letting them out to his class was both freeing and terrifying.

He relaxed minutely when the room filled with the sound of snaps.

"I'm impressed," Dr. Warren said. "That was... incredibly personal. I'll admit, I wasn't sure you'd ever write something like that again." He didn't even have to ask who 'the man' in the piece was. Considering the Host's preface, it was obvious.

The Host ducked his head slightly, embarrassed. "The Host thanks Dr. Warren... he thinks."

That was met with a room full of laughter.

* * *

As the class was gathering their things, Grace, nudged his side gently with her elbow. "So, that doctor you mentioned..." Her voice took on a teasing tone. "He wouldn't happen to be the one who came and changed your bandages after class last week, would he?"

The Host blushed again in response, and all Grace could do was laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure how the piece the Host wrote came out, just because I'm not very good at writing sappy, mushy stuff, and that's what that was supposed to be. There was some reference to some things that were sad, yeah, but it was mostly about how he felt about Dr. Iplier, and so a reference to that dark time was kind of necessary. I really hope the point got across though. (Also, the reason he was kind of concerned about bleeding is because while stress and visions can cause his sockets to bleed, extreme, excessive blushing can also make it happen, and considering he opened up his deepest thoughts on Dr. Iplier... you can probably imagine how much he was blushing during this. It's probably a miracle he didn't start bleeding again.
> 
> To explain a few things about this class... First of all, the thing ran like a club, rather than a class. You write some stuff, then you meet once a week—for three hours, but we usually got out early—and read a short piece. Then, people comment on it. What they liked about it, some advice on what they could do. The professor makes a suggestion, but you don't have to follow it. You could do what he suggested or basically say, "Fuck you, (Professor)." (His words, not mine.) And after someone was done reading, we all snapped instead of an applause. I'm not entirely sure why, but it's what we did, and as this class was based on that one...
> 
> I don't mean to keep writing about the Host. I know many of you (or at least some) probably don't mind it, but this series is about ALL the egos, not just the Host. And there's another story, which I'm holding off on for a little bit, that ALSO focuses on him. So, any and all suggestions are welcome, and I will honestly do what I can.


End file.
